


Eyes Across the Body

by AugustaAugustus18



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hair, naked, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaAugustus18/pseuds/AugustaAugustus18
Summary: Something in the night wakes our men up and they each take time to feast their eyes on the other.





	Eyes Across the Body

I woke up slowly, hearing noises from the street below combined with something on the stairs. I stayed still awhile, determining it was nothing. When I finally relaxed, I turned to my right side and saw John, still fully asleep, not disturbed at all by what had woken me. 

Ahh, John. He was stretched out, rather straight as is his way. The street light illuminated him with as much clarity as if it was day. My eyes roamed over him.

His hair is mostly silver now and he’s keeping it rather short. Not the comb-over he had for a while. I didn’t like that particularly. I like it short. It looks confident and boyish at the same time. His hair may have turned gray but his body is as trim as it ever was. I relish looking at him like this. 

His scruff has some grey and ginger and every shade of blond. But his arm hair is pale and not thick. His chest hair stretches from just below his throat toward his waist, wider across his chest and narrower as it goes downward. When the street light falls on him the lit blond hairs give him a golden aura. I sometimes touch his chest lightly, feeling the soft hair. Or I gently kiss his scar, puckered and lined. 

Below his waist a thin, darker hair line leads towards his pubic area and his cock sits surrounded by the darkest hair. Not too dark. More like dark honey. His cock sometimes stiffens up and at other times rests peacefully in its nest. 

His legs stretch out and they are covered with blond hair too, sparse, from the top of his thighs to his ankles. Sometimes I pause where his hair stops and his smooth ankles and feet start. I admire his perfectly formed feet. 

His arms are muscled and firm but lean. He keeps some weights here at the flat, stores them under the unused bed upstairs. Then his hands. So neat and perfect. His nails are always clean as a doctor would. 

He’s sleeping soundly and isn’t too restless tonight. Something he’s dreaming about causes him to smile softly and he utters “yeah.” He turns his head from one side to the other. Then he goes quiet again. 

I settle back down, resting on my side where I can continue to watch him. I don’t touch him at moments like this, but just am glad he is home with me.

\-----------

Someone was honking their horn — leaning on the horn. I woke up with a start and listened to the various noises in the building. When nothing developed, I turned to my left and there was Sherlock, sound asleep, breathing evenly and deeply. I raised myself and rested on my left elbow, and thought about how lucky I am. 

Look at him. Sleeping takes 10 years off of him. His hawk face softens and he looks relaxed. His dark hair, his eyebrows and lashes, contrast against the pale and freckled skin. His scruff is dark with just a hint of ginger. 

I love looking down his body. His chest hair is very fine and definitely ginger, as is the hair on his arms — hardly noticeable. Around his cock his hair is dark like his head. 

He’s very muscled both in his arms, chest and legs. His legs are so long - he's over half legs. God, he sleeps like he doesn’t have a care, all beautifully formed limbs thrown across the bed, taking more than his share of the width.

Is there nothing about him physically that’s not beautiful? Well, he would say the scars on his chest from Mary’s gun shot and then the resulting operation - those scars are still purple, but they don’t detract from the symmetry and well formed shape of his chest muscles. Then his back has some marks that he tells me are from his days chasing Moriarty. He’s not one to complain, but you don’t have marks like that unless you’ve been in some very rough situations. Very rough. And I can see a faint scar above his eyebrow. That's from that awful time, when I was so low. 

But he’s survived and I have him back, and I know all the reasons he had to feign his death and take other drastic actions. But sometimes I still am moved at his scars and what he’s endured for my sake, for our friends’ sake. 

He moves around a bit, throws one of his arms out and nearly gets my nose. Then he settles again. He’s mine. Finally I just lie down on my side and watch him for an eternity.


End file.
